


The Trial

by FedonCiadale



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ivanhoe AU, Knight movie AU, Not entirely happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-01 21:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15782589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FedonCiadale/pseuds/FedonCiadale
Summary: Sansa of York stands accused of witchcraft, and Jon, King Rhaegar's bastard is desperate to save her.





	The Trial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dameegocentrique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameegocentrique/gifts).



> This was written for jonsaexchange at tumblr and this my gift for @dameegocentrique. I hope she likes this Ivanhoe AU.  
> I could kill two birds with one stone here: My Jonsa obsession meets with my conviction that Wilfried of Ivanhoe really loved Rebecca.

_Sansa looks so frightened and yet so brave_. Locks of her red hair had escaped her scarf and were moving in the light breeze. She looked like the innocent she was, but she stood accused of witchcraft. Up to the last moment Jon hoped that justice would prevail. He could see Eddard shrinking into himself with each witness that was called forward and he could see prince Viserys’ cruel smile intensifying the longer the trial went on. Jon flexed his sword hand annoyed that so many people were ready to accuse Sansa simply because she had another faith.

“I was a servant in the house of Eddard of York and I saw this woman crying over a knight with a bleeding wound. She spoke strange words to him and he raised. She resurrected him from the dead.” That was the testimony of a frightened old woman. Her voice toppled over showing how nervous she was.

Viserys leaned forward, schooling his smirk. “Please, can you tell us, which knight that was?” he asked in a sweet voice as if he didn’t want to startle the frightened witness.

Even though Jon knew what the answer would be, he could not help but wince when he heard his own name, spoken aloud. Jon tried to get a grip on his emotions. He remembered Sansa’s whispers and her soft hands that tended his wounds. It had certainly _felt_ like he had never been alive before Sansa’s hands had touched his skin.

“Ser Jon of Ivanhoe, King Rhaegar’s bastard.” _Leave it to Viserys to prevent me testifying on her behalf._ It was not as if he liked his uncle anyway, but Jon knew where all of this would lead, and he had no power to prevent it. Only the king held that power and he had not yet returned.

Jon could feel the eyes of several people in the hall on his face. He stood taller and took the measure of some of the men. He had the fleeting satisfaction that most of them looked away.

The guards pulled the old woman away, but not before she burst into tears and called out towards Sansa: “My lady, forgive me, they told me to accuse you. They threatened my son.”

Sansa moved her lips and Jon thought that he could make out how she whispered: “Poor soul, I forgive you.” _Even now, she’s kind._ Jon felt an irrational anger at the old woman.

Viserys stood up. “We have heard all the witnesses. Can there be any doubt that Sansa of York is a witch? Anybody who wants to speak against this?”

He looked around and made a show of inviting Eddard to have his say. The old man argued that his daughter was a healer like her mother Catelyn had been and that she had never done anyone evil. Viserys dismissed his testimony as that of a father wanting to defend his child.

He raised his eyebrows, when Jon raised his hand.

“Ser Jon of Ivanhoe. I think you were already mentioned in this trial. You wish to testify?”

Jon made his way into the middle of the hall. He had always suspected it would come to this.

“It is obvious that Sansa of York won’t get justice here. I demand that her case be put forward in a greater court. I demand trial by combat.” His voice rang clear and loud, although he felt like it should tremble.

He carefully avoided looking at Sansa although he was well aware of her presence in his back. She was like the rising sun, there was no way he would not feel her presence. He was also painfully aware of Val’s disapproving glance from the women’s balcony.

Viserys could not hide his smirk. _You have me where you wanted me, but even if I die, the King will make an end to your machinations._

“You realise, that you yourself would have to defend Sansa’s innocence? Would your father approve of this? You, the known crusader fighting for a Jewish witch?”

Jon looked him squarely in the eye and nodded.

“I would defend her innocence even if she was a heathen. The king’s justice means nothing, if it does not extend to all.”

Viserys smiled. “Such brave words and in a court where the king’s representative sits as judge. Your behaviour is very insolent. I will name a champion for the king’s justice who will stand against you and show that this court is as just in the king’s absence as it is in his presence.”

He made a show of letting his eyes wander across the hall, although Jon suspected he knew already whom to appoint.

“Ser Sandor, step forward,” the prince called out. Jon could see the glint in his eyes and clenched his fist. Viserys ever had a cruel streak but this was exceptional even for him.

Ser Sandor of Bois-Guilbert, known as the Hound, stood up.

“Your Grace, I beg you. Do not choose me. I am convinced that Sansa of York is innocent.” His voice sounded even more raspy than usual.

“That is because she has bewitched you.” Viserys told his knight. “I am certain that fighting for your life will cure you of this particular illness.”

Sansa called out. “Ser Jon cannot fight for me. His injury from the tourney is not fully healed.”

“Your grace,” the Hound pleaded again.

Viserys denied their requests. “I think this is delicious. Ser Sandor, you see how much Sansa cares for Ser Jon, even if it means her own life. You can decide if you hate him enough and value your own life enough to finish him, once the trial starts.”

He cackled a laugh, that echoed unanswered through the hall. It made several people uneasy, but Jon knew from experience that nobody would speak against the prince.

Jon turned only to see that Sansa’s cheeks were aflame. She lowered her eyes when Jon’s gaze met her face. _Look at me,_ he silently begged, although he had avoided her gaze before. After the blink of an eye, Sansa raised her eyes again and Jon’s heart picked up speed. For a moment that lasted not long enough their eyes locked.

Too late, Jon remembered his betrothed, the Welsh princess and looked up to Val. There was a deep frown on her face. _I wonder if I’ll manage to explain this._

\-----

Prince Viserys left them barely time to prepare and Val came to him, when Jon prepared for the trial. Jon could see that she had worked herself in a temper.

“Why would you do such a foolish thing? Is it because she’s pretty?” Val demanded to know.

Jon shrugged and concentrated on putting on his gloves.

“I do this for you and your people,” he stated. This was always the best way to deflect her.

She laughed. “You can’t be serious. How does it help the Welsh if you die in a trial by combat?”

Jon donned his girdle. Sam always reproached him of acting on instinct, but the moment he had decided that he would volunteer to fight he had thought hard about what he could tell Val. _Not the truth though, never the truth._

“Do you honestly think that we Normans think better about the Welsh than they do about the Jews? I can assure you, they barely accept you and your people as Christians. If you cannot find it in your heart to pity a woman who is obviously innocent, you should be clever enough to think that such blatant injustice does not bode well for your people as well.”

Jon could see that Val was pondering about what he said, but she still narrowed her eyes at him.

“But why should you be the one to defend justice?” she wanted to know. “You are the king’s son.”

“Did you see anyone else volunteer?” Jon asked back.

She shook her head, still not happy.

Jon took her hands in his. “Val, dearest, we have talked about this. I know the Welsh don’t really make a difference between bastards and sons. But here in England, I am nothing without my father. Eddard of York has great influence with the Jews at York. And they paid part of my father’s ransom. He’ll be back, and he’ll be glad I backed his allies.”

He pleaded at her with his eyes.

“He wants justice in his realm. I can prove that I work for his cause. I can make people see, what his justice means. Many people were uneasy about the trial against Sansa of York.”

The last sentence was a lie, but Val did not call him out on it. Jon had seen some worried faces, but he suspected they were far more worried about Viserys’ bid for power than about the innocence of one Jewish girl. Judging by his own experience Sansa was a skilled healer. But nobody had spoken out on her behalf.

“So, you show your father, that you work for his interest and he’ll reward you once he comes back.” Val nodded slowly. “if he comes back,” she added.

“The ransom is paid, he will return and set everything right.”

Not that Jon really believed that his volatile father would set everything right, but he would be better than his brother prince Viserys. _Slightly better._

He leaned forward and kissed his betrothed lightly on the cheeks. “Even if I fail, my father will not forget you.”

He could see tears on her lashes.

“But you have to fight the Hound.”

Jon tried to shrug reassuringly.

“He might be taller, but I’m faster,” he assured her with more confidence than he felt. _One way or the other, it won’t matter. If I die, Sansa dies as well. If I win I have the comfort that she is somewhere, breathing and alive and maybe thinking about me, at least once in a while._ All he knew was that he could not live in a world without Sansa. He might be able to live in a world where he just knew that she was alive.

\----

Sansa still felt as if she were in a nightmare. She was led on the meadow, guards all around her. _As if I would even flee with Jon’s life in the balance._

She could see her father sitting on a bench in the first row, his head bent. _He’ll pray. I hope it helps._ Praying had not helped when her mother and her elder brother had died, killed during a riot, when Lord Walder had killed them to cancel his debts. She closed her eyes, the sun shone on her face and prayed herself. _Adonai._ She couldn’t think of more to say and trusted God to know what she wanted. _Not my life, just his._

The champions were brought forward and Ser Sandor of Bois-Guilbert addressed her.

“Sansa, look what a beautiful spring day it is. I’m sure you don’t want to die”.

He took her hand, pulled it up to his face and pressed it to his rough lips.

“Even now, just say you love me and marry me. I’ll back down from this trial and bring you to safety, to my castle. Prince Viserys be damned. Renounce Jon of Ivanhoe and I’ll defend you to my last breath.”

Sansa withdrew her hand from his. It felt wooden and lifeless to her and she repressed the urge to warm it with her other hand.

“Ser,” she said calmly. “You threatened my life before to make me bend to your will, and I did not give in then. Who says that you won’t threaten my life again. I do not love you and I never will. A marriage to me would only bring you misery. You do not share my faith, nor do you try to understand it.”

His eyes glittered, and she saw a vein pulse in his throat. “You know that Jon of Ivanhoe is betrothed to the Welsh princess. Even if he manages to kill me, he won’t marry you. Your love is in vain.”

“It seems to me, Ser Sandor, that you do understand little of love. You think that love can be coerced. It cannot. It can only be freely given. And it does ask for nothing. Is this not what one of your apostles say?”

Sansa could feel her cheeks getting warmer and risked a glance at Jon. _Would he want me to accept this strange offer? Should I do it to save his life?_

Her eyes found his, and he gave a barely perceptible nod.

“I gladly defend your life and your freedom. If you flee with Bois-Guilbert you’ll never be free again. I owe you my life. So, I risk nothing that is not yours anyway,” Jon said. He didn’t not take her hand, even though Sansa would have wished it, but gave a bow, his eyes never leaving her face.

Sansa finally managed to unlock her gaze. ‘ _I risk nothing that is not yours anyway.’_ She would cherish his words until the end of her life, if she survived this day.

Sansa barely registered that Prince Viserys had arrived and signalled for the trial to begin. The combatants chose weapons and Sandor de Bois-Guilbert chose a nasty looking morningstar, his face thunderous. He swung it several times through the air and it gave a swishing sound that made Sansa shudder. Jon chose an axe.

The whole duel went by in a blur for Sansa. Occasionally she could hear her father groan in fear, but she herself felt frozen, her heart beating erratically and fast at one moment and at other the beats were almost fluttering until she felt close to fainting. She felt separated from her limbs. If someone would have told her to run, she would not have managed. She didn’t know how she remained standing, and when Bois-Guilbert unseated Jon her heart seemed to stop.

She could only breathe in shallow breaths then. It was only when Jon trapped Bois-Guilbert’s morningstar with his axe and pulled him from his horse in a powerful move that should not have been possible, that the air rushed back into her lungs. After the Hound had been unhorsed, even Sansa could see that the tide was turning in Jon’s favour. Nevertheless, she closed her eyes and moved her lips in silent prayer. _Adonai._

She opened her eyes when she heard the crowd gasp collectively. Jon’s axe was buried deep in the Hound’s chest. Prince Viserys stood, his face a mask, but Sansa was sure he was disappointed. Jon stood up. The Hound feebly raised one arm, but it was clear that he was wounded to the death. Jon held his right hand to his left shoulder. _The wound from the tourney must have opened again._

The guards did not stop her, when she gathered her dress and ran to Jon.

When she arrived, the Hound was still drawing breath, but the sound was mixed with a low gurgling. He looked at her pleadingly, and Sansa knelt beside him. The Welsh princess Val had come as well.

“Curse the fate, that made me love you, and not Ser Jon. I know, you are innocent. May God give you a long life.” His voice grew fainter. Sansa was not sure, but she thought that she could hear “Forgive me”, as his life ebbed away. She took his hand. “May you find peace, Ser Sandor.”, she managed to say. She stood again.

Jon took of his helmet. Sweat had run from his forehead, but there was no blood on his face. Yet, he was pale. Sansa ached to touch him. She ached to kiss him, but it could never be.

“Has your wound reopened?”, she asked.

Jon shook his head. “I doubt it. It just hurt very much, when the Hound hit me there.”

He grimaced. “I’ll probably won’t be able to move it for some time.”

Val observed their exchange with narrowed eyes.

Sansa sighed. She knew what she had to do, for her people, for Jon, for the peace of them all.

It still hurt. _Just give up a piece of my heart. It is nothing._ She turned to Val and curtsied.

“My lady,” she said. “Ser Sandor spoke the truth. He might have loved me after a fashion, but Ser Jon’s heart was always yours. When he was in my care, after he was wounded, he spoke of you alone in his fever, just like he took your favour at the tourney.”

She swallowed her tears and made herself smile at the woman who would get it all. Val’s face softened, and Sansa could see a flicker of pity entering the princess’ eyes. _There, take advantage of that. Make your tale believable._

“I had a dream, my lady. A dream that someone brave, gentle and strong would love me. Do not begrudge me that dream. Nor, I beg you, begrudge me that your husband-to-be cared enough for me to defend my innocence and with me that of my people.” She curtsied again. Only now she stopped fighting the tears and could feel a little drop sliding down her cheek.

Jon looked at her, his eyes unreadable. It might have been the sun, but Sansa thought she saw a glitter in the corner of his eye.

“Sansa,” he said in a voice that seemed much deeper than usual and that made Sansa shiver.

Her father had finally managed to reach her and embraced her. His tears run freely. He thanked Ser Jon until the knight squirmed with embarrassment.

They were interrupted by the blare of trumpets that announced a new arrival. Sansa barely registered the three dragons on a field of black before her father had already pulled her down on her knees. “The king,” he whispered.

Sansa risked a look at Prince Viserys who had sunk to his knees like the rest. King Rhaegar rode until he reached their little group.

“Jon”, he called and jumped from the horse like a much younger man.

“I see I come too late to do the king’s justice on my own. You’ve already made the point.”

He helped his son up and embraced him. Princess Val was pulled up from her curtsy as well. When the king turned to Sansa and her father, she remained still. She was surprised to see that her father who was usually so careful with authorities looked the king straight in the eyes.

“Your Grace.” His voice sounded detached as if he was far away.

“It’s Eddard of York, now, is it? You used to be Eddard of Rouen when I met you last.”

“We have moved to England, your Grace, after my wife and our firstborn died.” _Father knows the king? He never told me._

King Rhaegar looked pensive and frowned. “You lost your brother and your sister as well, didn’t you?”

Sansa almost flinched when she saw her father clench his fists. _He never clenches his fists. Someone might see!_

“Indeed, your grace,” he answered. “That was a long time ago, in the troubles that followed your …” he hesitated. “… your disagreement with your father.”

Disagreement put it mildly. Rhaegar had rebelled against his father 20 years ago and had almost lost his head for it. _Father has met the King at the time of his rebellion against old King Aerys? That must have been about the time Jon was born._ Jon was born of a side dalliance of the then prince with a kitchen maid, everybody knew that, and the king had been kind enough to take him in and give him an education as a knight.

The King smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

“My son wrote me, that Eddard of York and the Jews of York gave a substantial sum for my ransom. What made the man, who never wanted to see me again pay money for my ransom?”

Eddard lowered his head in deference.

“Your son can be very persuasive. He convinced us that it was our duty, and he was kind enough to promise a safe haven in York to me and my people.”

The King nodded graciously, although Sansa thought it was somewhat reluctant.

“And I’ll honour that promise for the sake of my son.”

The King turned away from them impatiently, his mind already set on his younger brother, who approached with a show of respect and deference that to Sansa seemed false like everything Viserys did.

Her father already led her away, and Sansa could just hear Prince Viserys proclaiming himself to be overjoyed at his brother’s return. _Snake. It’s a pity that Jon can’t inherit the throne. He would be a much better heir than that double-dealing liar._

“We should leave, before the King changes his mind,” her father urged her.

“I want to say goodbye to Ser Jon.” Sansa refused to be pulled and dug her heels in.

Her father sighed. “We’ll go to that tree over there and wait for a while. But not too long. I want to go home…. Or I want to be away from this dangerous place.”

They sat in the shade of the tree and Sansa let the sunrays play on the back of her hand, in awe that she somehow had survived. Her father had that look he had, when he remembered her mother.

They did not have to wait long. Jon of Ivanhoe had spotted them, and he came and sat at their side. He had taken off his armour, and Sansa was relieved to see, that there was only a small smear of blood on his shoulder, where the lance had pierced him at the tourney. Sansa still thought it was a wonder that a Christian knight would just sit beside them.

Jon turned to her father. “Will you return to York?”, he asked.

Her father just nodded. His face was a curious mixture of wariness and fondness.

“I thank you, Ser Jon, for my daughter’s life, for caring for justice.” He paused. “Your mother must have been an extraordinary woman.”

Jon shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met her. Every good knight would have done this. I could not fail defending an innocent woman.”

Sansa could not help herself, she had to laugh. “That is probably why they were all lining up to defend my innocence.”

Jon looked taken aback, but then he had to laugh as well. Sansa war sure it was also the relief of having survived after all. Their laughter died, and they sat for a while in silence that was not entirely uncomfortable.

“I wish you happiness in your marriage,“ Sansa finally managed to blurt out. “Princess Val is a beautiful woman and she will appreciate a husband of honour.” _There I said it._ She smiled, although to herself her face felt wooden.

“Thank you. Knowing that you live will give me happiness.” Sansa wished he hadn’t said that and wished he would say it again.

He smiled and stood. “I wish you a good journey to York. You’d best start before Viserys tries to revenge himself on you for thwarting his plans.”

Her father stood as well and gestured to his daughter. Sansa did not want to leave. She wanted to stop time itself to sit here, with Jon by her side for all eternity.

“I’ll make sure that the King does not forget what he owes the Jews of York.” Jon said.

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.” Eddard of York put his hand on his heart in a gesture of trust.

Jon turned to Sansa and took her hand in his. She could feel his calloused hands. Her heart beat so wildly, that she feared that she would not understand his words.

“God bless you. You have been my good spirit, since I returned to England.”

Sansa felt the colour raise to her cheeks. Jon pulled her towards him, oh, so softly, it was more of a nudge than a pull. Willingly she stepped closer, until their faces were only inches apart.

“If God is good, we will see each other again,” she whispered. “Do you want a token of my friendship.” She dared not say more.

“I will carry the token of your kindness and healing skill all my life.” He gestured at his shoulder. And smiled. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Sansa felt as if the tender touch of his lips on her skin burned her. When Jon pulled back, they looked into each other’s eyes, oblivious to the world around them. Suddenly it didn’t matter, that he was not for her. He was. And that was enough for her heart to be filled with joy.

Jon let go of her hand. For a moment their fingers still brushed each other and then his touch was gone, although the warmth of his skin lingered. _We might not be destined to be with each other, but at least I know that there is someone like him._

Jon turned after a last look and left, and Sansa’s father embraced her shortly.

“Destiny has played us a cruel trick, I would say.” Eddard mused.

“Why would you say that?”, Sansa asked. “Surely it was good, that we met Ser Jon by chance on the road.”

“Yes, and I’m glad we’ve met him, but brace your heart, dear daughter. I doubt that the king will allow him to keep in touch.”

Her father sighed. “Because we are his family. I’ve suspected for some time, but today I saw his father again. The man who took my sister’s child from me.”

Sansa felt her head spinning. “Jon is aunt Lyanna’s son?”

Eddard just nodded. “Yes, apparently his father never told him. He probably did not want it made public that he had a dalliance with a Jewish girl.”

Sansa could see tears in her father’s eyes. “He could be one of us, but if he was, he could not have fought for you or spoken for us.”

He wiped his eyes. “Lyanna would have been so proud.”

For a long time, Sansa had no words. It was only after they had left the city and sat on a cart on their way to York that she talked again.

“Father,” she asked. “Are God’s ways always that complicated and difficult?”

Her father took her hand. “I fear so, yes. If it wasn’t that difficult, Lyanna, Brandon, your mother and Robb would be with us. And your cousin as well.”

Sansa cried for a long time and her father held her. It took her a good while to calm her breaths after she had stopped crying.

“I’m still glad we met him,” she finally said. “I’m still glad, I know that there is someone who is brave and gentle and strong.”


End file.
